Mistletoe
by KellyAnnie
Summary: One-shot with a dominant Cameron, a distracted House, and Christmas decorations.


**Author's Note:** Another one-shot! The characters still aren't mine, though the plot is. I wrote this as a series of Christmas fics for a friend last year and just got around to uploading them. I hope you're up for dirty language and a dominant Cameron. Hope you enjoy!  
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House was perfectly alright working beside Cameron. She wasn't his Fellow anymore; she was an official physician. A Diagnostician, even. An Immunologist and a Diagnostician. And he was proud of her, but he'd never tell her. He was pretty sure she knew, anyway.

The point was that he was okay working alongside of her instead of ordering her around. But when she decorated the office for Christmas, he wanted to kill her. She was putting mistletoe above the damned table in the diagnostics room, for Christ's sake. And he was going to stop her. Really, he was.

She reached up to press the push-pin into the ceiling and he saw them when her dress rode up her wrap-around-the-waist legs. They ended right above her knees and … oh, God, she was wearing stay-ups. With a strap leading… He swallowed. No, he _gulped_. Was she wearing a corset? Some sort of special panties that allowed her to clip the garters to them?

It was just stupid for people to expect him to be able to deny the fact that Allison Cameron was one sexy woman. And she didn't work _for_ him now, which meant that he could date her, if he so chose. He'd managed to ask her out, for a real date, twice. She'd accepted once (the second time he'd asked), and the date had gone well. But they were both extremely busy people and didn't have time for dates.

She was struggling with the push-pin, and he simply stood there and watched as her dress rode higher. Maybe he'd get a glimpse of whatever was holding up those naughty little stay-ups. Black lace. God, he wanted to fuck her.

Wait, what?

He should really clear his throat and let her know that he was here. Let her know that her dress was mere centimeters away from letting him see just what was underneath it. Oh… There it was. He smirked. A black satin thong. If he sat down at the table… No; she'd hear him.

She was attracted to him, right? He held back a snicker when he heard her let out a sound of frustration and stomp her foot on the table. Did she know how incredibly short that dress was when she was stretching her torso and raising her arms? Maybe he should offer to help. Of course, he couldn't be of much help since all he could think about was fucking her brains out.

Maybe she wanted him to, he thought as he quirked his head to the side to get a beautiful view of her firm ass. The blinds to both the diagnostics room and his office were drawn. And here she was, in that hot little black dress with her sexy thong and naughty stay-ups, stretched before him like some sort of platter. He'd be an idiot not to ask, at least, if she wanted to just ditch the mistletoe and fuck.

If he worded it just like that, would she go for it? Probably not. He'd use the excuse that she was much too proper, but her choice of undergarments definitely threw that one right out the window. Maybe he could ask her on another date… Only this time, he'd take her to a sex shop.

Alright, he needed to let her know that he was watching her struggle with that damned mistletoe. How to do so?

He smirked. "Nice ass," he commented.

Cameron squeaked and slipped, her nice ass hitting the table. She turned and glared at him. "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough to know that you, Dr. Cameron, wear naughty panties."

She flushed and glared at him some more. "You could have told me that you were standing there watching me try to pin this damned thing to the ceiling."

"But … then I wouldn't have gotten that beautiful view of a perfectly sculpted ass," House pointed out. "Revel in the compliments; I don't give them often."

Cameron rolled her eyes and slipped off the table, straightening her dress. "Yeah, right. I have a hot body; you hired me for my hot body. It's when you compliment my mind that I'll be astonished."

"Words hurt."

"You've got to have a heart for them to hurt," Cameron replied sweetly, dropping the mistletoe into the pocket of House's suit jacket.

"I've got a heart," he defended, taking the mistletoe out and holding it above Cameron, leaning in to brush a fleeting kiss over her cheek. "It's just three sizes too small."

He moved to go into his office and didn't catch that she had a stupid grin on her face and touched the place he'd kissed. "You're playful today."

"Blame it on the season. And the fact that I got to see your thong."

She let out a small laugh and followed him, standing in his office doorway. "Hey… Are you free this weekend?"

"I'm free every weekend," he replied, sitting at his desk and turning to his computer. "Ever since the Emancipation Proclamation, the Egyptians let my people go."

Cameron snorted. "You're neither black nor Moses."

"But the mix was beautiful." He glanced over his shoulder at her. "I'm not doing anything this weekend. Why?"

"I've got nothing going on, and our date went well…"

"Do you want me to bang you, Cameron?" he asked, somehow managing a straight face. "All you've got to do is ask and I'll willingly bend your hot little ass over a couch. Or desk. Whichever you prefer."

He smirked when she rolled her eyes and put a hand on her hip. "I was going to suggest we rent a movie and grab some dinner."

"So … you want me to come over to your place and debauch you on your couch?"

"What? That's not what I said…"

"Ah, Cameron. It's all about subtext."

She laughed and threw a ball at his head. "Seven. Saturday."

"I'll be there," he told her, catching the ball and giving her a smirk. "Should I bring handcuffs? Rope? Whips?"

"Just bring yourself. I'm not promising sex on a couch."

"…How about a-?"

"You do your work," she scolded playfully. "I'm going to check on the patient."

"Ew. Sick people."

With another roll of her eyes, she left. "See you Saturday," she called over her shoulder.

Even though they worked alongside each other, they probably wouldn't see each other until Saturday; they barely spoke at work unless he absolutely needed her for a differentials session. Maybe that was why he wanted her, he reflected as he checked his e-mail. The fact that they never really saw each other anymore made him want to make up for that time somehow. Funny how things like that work out.

When Saturday came around, he called Cameron around six and asked what she wanted for dinner. He stopped by and picked up the Mexican food that she'd decided on and then went to her apartment. He wasn't quite sure what to expect out of tonight, and he was honest enough with himself to admit that. He'd worn jeans and a tee-shirt, as usual, and figured there was no point in dressing up, anyway. They were just sitting around Cameron's apartment.

He got there right around seven, and Cameron opened the door wearing a green sweater and a matching green skirt that ended halfway down her thighs. It was far shorter than anything she'd wear at work, and she wasn't wearing nylons. That almost made House frown; that skirt was so short that she probably didn't have those naughty little stay-ups on this time. Damn.

"You're early," she said with a smile.

"Mexicans know how to work. It's why we have them pick our fruit."

"Racist." She took the food from him and went to the kitchen to set it on the counter. "Thanks for picking up the food," she called out to him. "I was planning on doing it."

"I was already out," he replied with a shrug, getting out of his jacket and setting it on a nearby chair.

Cameron came back into the living room and handed him his meal before sitting on the couch and patting the spot next to her. "I rented five movies because I didn't know what you liked."

"Five?" he asked, digging into his dinner. "Isn't that a bit of overkill?"

"One for each genre," she replied, picking them up as she named them off. "Horror, action, romantic comedy, drama, regular comedy, and male chick-flick."

House snorted. "Male chick-flick?"

"_Braveheart_," she explained.

"That is _not_ a chick-flick," he said defensively.

Cameron laughed. "It's the male equivalent. I've never seen a man watch _Braveheart_ without bawling his eyes out."

"Don't mock our epics."

"You mock our romance movies," she pointed out. She nudged the movies toward House. "Pick one."

"Are you going to turn into a gooey girl if I put in the horror flick?"

"Are you kidding me?" she asked, polishing off her serving of rice. "I have four older brothers and I grew up reading Stephen King, Dean Koontz, and Clive Barker. If anything, _you'll_ be the one screaming."

He snorted and handed her the horror movie, which she put in. She'd rented _The Shining_ for a horror flick, and he was completely okay with that. It was a longer movie, which meant he'd be here for a longer period of time. He wouldn't be concentrating on the movie, anyway; he wondered how long it would take to get that skirt off of Cameron.

Once they'd both finished their dinner and settled in to watch the movie, he couldn't quite resist pulling her close to him. She didn't resist, didn't ask questions, just cuddled close to him and curled her legs under her on the couch. There were times when she jumped and times when he purposely made her jump, after which she'd smack him and he'd laugh at how easy it was to make her leap out of her seat.

By the end of the movie, she was draped over his lap, head resting on the armrest of the couch instead of on his bad leg, and his hand was resting on her inner thigh. They let the credits roll and he teased her about being so jumpy, despite the fact that she apparently grew up in the horror house extraordinaire.

She rolled her eyes and moved her leg so that her knee was bent, and his hand was just a little closer to her center. "Don't mock my level of girl," she warned. "I'll get angry."

"And I wouldn't like you when you're angry?" he murmured, moving his hand up another inch.

It was as though she'd suddenly realized just how close he was getting to touching her, and she bit her bottom lip. "No one likes me when I'm angry. I get mean."

"Please," he scoffed. "Your version of mean is refusing to get someone their coffee."

She frowned and batted his hand away from her. "I can be mean," she defended herself. "I can be very mean."

He suddenly pictured her as a dominatrix and all thoughts flew from his head. "Be mean to me," he told her, eyes boring intensely into hers.

"I… What?"

He grasped her thigh and moved his hand toward her core, and she slapped it away. "Like that," he told her, leaning in to nip at her neck. "Be mean to me, Allison."

It suddenly dawned on her what it was that he wanted, and she smirked. "You want me to _dominate_ you?" she asked, eyebrow quirked as she wriggled out of his grasp. "Is that what you want, House?"

"Well, when you put it that way…"

She leaned in close, hands on either side of him, trapping him. "If you want it, you say it, or I don't do it. Clear?"

"Like crystal," he responded in a murmur, pressing his lips to hers. "I want you to show me how mean you can be."

Oh, God. She smirked and leaned in, unsnapping his jeans. "But I can be so mean…" Their first time in bed and she was going to tease the hell out of him. For some reason, she felt that it fit them. It _fit_ for him to want something completely unexpected from her.

She grasped his shirt and yanked it over his head, sure to make her nails scrape his chest as she pulled. She heard his gasp, caught a moan, and tossed his shirt to the side. "You've got a really hot body," she admitted, kneeling between his legs and nipping at his collarbone. "When I started working for you, I wanted to pin you against the wall."

"I wouldn't have minded." He yelped when she grasped a nipple between her teeth and pulled.

"No speaking," she warned him, laving her tongue over the bite to soothe it. "That's going to leave marks," she said innocently, moving down his body. "Arch your hips," she ordered. "The pants are coming off right now."

He did as she'd ordered and wasn't at all surprised when she all but tore the remainder of his clothing from his body. Christ, but she was a hot little thing. He watched as she all but slithered her way back up his body and straddled him. His mind stopped working when he realized something very important: Cameron wasn't wearing any underwear beneath that short little skirt.

She moved so that just the tip of him slid inside of her and his eyes rolled back. She was squeezing him. Just the tip of him. And then she moved off of him and he made a small noise of discontent, but she cut him off by biting his top lip. "None of that," she demanded, moving down once more.

After giving him a devilish little smirk, she scraped her nails along the bottom of his cock, drawing a curse out of him. "What was that?" she asked calmly, running her nails over the top this time.

"Fuck," he choked out. "Please…"

"Please what?" she asked, cocking her head to the side and shooting him an innocent, wide-eyed look.

"Please either suck my cock into that dirty little mouth or get up here and take me in," he growled.

She gave him a small giggle. "No." She glanced around the living room and found a pair of nylons; she must've slipped out of them after work one day and just left them there. She grabbed them and placed her hand on his head. "Bend forward," she demanded, "And put your arms behind your back like a good boy."

He quirked his eyebrow in confusion, but did as she commanded. "Hey, what…?" He started struggling when he realized that she was tying his hands together. She'd hidden the nylons, the sneaky little bitch. "Cameron…"

"No talking," she reminded him, pushing him gently back against the couch and straddling him once more. "Am I going to have to tie your legs to the couch, too, or can you keep those still?"

"I can keep them still," he growled, bucking his hips against hers. "Fuck me already."

"No," she repeated her earlier retort, keeping her weight on his knees and running her eyes down his body. "You wanted me to be mean."

"I didn't want a fucking cock-tease."

"I told you to ask for what you wanted," she reminded him with a smile, leaning down to suck a nipple into her mouth and swirl her tongue around it before nipping lightly. She repeated the procedure with the other nipple. "I like how you taste," she told him. "Like transgressions that I'm never apologizing for."

"God damn you and your extensive vocabulary. I want my cock in your cunt. Right now."

She shivered visibly and he smirked. "Say it again," she whispered to him, scooting just that much closer. "Talk just like that."

So now he was in control? He was definitely okay with that. "I want you to fuck me," he continued, eyes on hers, smirk firmly in place. "I want you to scoot up just a few more inches and ride me so hard that you scream. And then you're going to untie me and I'm going to fuck you into these cushions. If you're lucky enough, I'll make sure to fuck you completely senseless."

"That was not creative at all," she pouted, moving astride him and taking him in slowly, inch by delicious inch. "I was expecting something like…" She moaned as she took him in just a bit deeper. "…Something like you demanding me to suck your cock." Another inch. "You trying to take control by … mmm … telling me how much you want to be inside my tight, wet cunt."

"Jesus," he breathed out. Her talking like that was making _him_ hot. She finally sank all the way on him and he let out a moan. "You're so fucking hot. But you know that." He gasped when she tightened her velvet grasp on him. "Everyone must tell you."

"All the time," she replied, propping her hands against his shoulders and beginning to move. "But I like it better when you tell me." Her lips latched to his neck and she sucked the sweet skin there, leaving bites and bruises and wet trails. "I want you to come inside of me," she whispered in his ear. "I want you to moan for me, doc."

Oh, Christ. "Keep talking like that and I'll fucking sing your name with choirs of angels."

She giggled. Good god, she was even hot when she _giggled_. "You're no angel." She tightened her muscles around him and continued to move. "I'm not either."

"Fucking hell," he muttered incoherently. "I'm going to…"

"Yes," she pushed him through gritted teeth, squeezing tight and moving at an agonizingly slow pace. "I want you to."

"You're not…"

"You'll take care of me later. Come."

"Christ. No…"

"Do it."

"I'm not…"

She caught his gaze and held it, bucking her hips to his and demanding his release one more time. He choked out her name and came for her, slumping in defeat when he was fully spent. She stayed on his lap, nuzzling his neck and slipping her hands down his back to untie him.

"Once I get my mind back, I'm tying you up," he threatened weakly.

Cameron gave him a small laugh. "I'll let you."

House smiled and let his head drop on the back of the couch. Life, he decided, was damned good.


End file.
